Shreds and Shards
by MahoganEffie
Summary: Following both her mother's tragic demise, and her father's sudden disappearance, can Nevaeh Kotay manage to save them both by altering the past? Endgame AU.  C/7 and P/T!
1. The Shreds and Shards Of Us

**Title: Shreds and Shards**

**Summary: Following both her mother's tragic demise, and her father's sudden disappearance, can Nevaeh Kotay manage to save them both by altering the past? Endgame AU.**

**Timeline: Okay, readers, this is the final instalment of the 'When Two Become One' Trilogy. Whilst this could stand as a story on its own, for full clarity and understanding it's probably best if you've read them first. For those people who are like me, however, and just want to get on with reading the story, the timeline goes like this: Three years after Endgame, Seven dies on an away mission, just weeks after giving birth to a baby girl. Voyager returns home five years later. This story starts fifteen years after Voyager touches down on Earth. Feel free to just ask if you're still confused about the timeline; I still get a little puzzled myself ^_^. **

**Author's Note: Thank you to my beta, scifiromance! She's been such a rock lately, helping me through my moments of doubt with this story. Not that I'm cruising for reads/ reviews or anything (hint, hint), but I've just posted the first chapter of our first co-authored story 'Seven's Sins', so I'd recommend going to check that one out too. We'd both really appreciate the feedback : ) Also, my thanks to those who've been sticking with me through both the rewrites, and the new stories; the comments have been good so far, so let's keep them coming people :D**

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><p>Reminiscent of a gentle, dying flame, the sunset overshadowed the monotonous city of San Francisco, captivating the tired citizens with its hypnotic allure. Streaks of inky night intermingled with the haze of violet in a combination so powerful that it almost eclipsed the remaining shards of burnt copper below. The dismal rainclouds from earlier had almost completely disappeared, their wispy, crimson remains almost intangible to the people below. The storm that had raged through the, normally peaceful, city had left the sky in a state of harmonious disrepair. Children of all ages lounged lazily in the streets; being sent out to play was somewhat exhausting in the humid heat of mid-August. Cafes, coffee houses, and bistros were dotted around the map, each one full of young workers and entrepreneurs. In one of these establishments, the Cafe Charmillion, two young women sat contemplating their near-future; each one apprehensive about their own fate. The brunette, dressed in a tasteful, grey work dress, was sipping a glass of orange juice; she'd been working at Starfleet Headquarters for a month under the watchful eye of her former Captain, Admiral Kathryn Janeway. The blonde, a picture in her flowing, bohemian-style dress, was eating the remains of her strawberry ice cream, considering the possibility of faking an illness to get out of tomorrow's ancient opera lesson. They'd known each other from a very young age, and had experienced almost all of their major milestones and events by the other's side.<p>

"Do you think she'll cause a scene at the reunion tonight?" the blonde, Nevaeh Kotay asked her friend, Cleo Paris. Even though she'd only experienced life on Voyager for her first five years, it had been enough time for her to become acquainted with the fact that the Admiral did not look down favourably upon her. "I'll never forget what she said last year."

"Well, don't you worry," Cleo replied, "I don't think she's quite stupid enough to risk another little comment like _that _again. Mom and dad have already assured me that they'll keep a watch out for anything she might do. Besides, if she does start, I'll try and pull her aside to ask her some question about work; I have a million of them. Anyway, I've heard some particularly intriguing rumours about our favourite Admiral; rumours that she'd _hate _being spread."

"Rumours?" Nevaeh questioned, allowing a mischievous glint to sparkle in her dark blue eyes, "Feel like sharing, o' secretive one?"

"Well, we've been testing a lot of trial vaccines and medical supplies lately to make sure they're still working," Cleo replied, eager to share the 'dirt' she'd managed to uncover. She hadn't thought she'd be trusted with office gossip, having only been at her apprenticeship for five weeks, but it would seem that the members of the Admiral's staff weren't all that endeared to their boss. "Normally, it'd all be fine, but we had a security alert when one of the new experimental treatments went missing."

"I think I read about that online a couple of days ago," Nevaeh said, confused, "It was returned, right?"

"Yup. But after some scans we were able to detect traces of Macenitoa on it. You remember what Macenitoa is, right?"

"To be honest with you, Clee, I gave up on science when I left High School; I haven't got a clue."

"It's the stuff used in the new generation of replicators. Mom would be so offended if she were here..."

"Why?" Nevaeh asked; though she could see that Cleo was clearly joking, she didn't understand why her lack of scientific knowledge would offend her 'Auntie Bee'.

"Because it's named after us, remember? Before the twins were born. It's our initials with the first four vowels in between them," At Nevaeh's baffled expression, Cleo laughed, "It goes in birth order: 'M' for Miral, 'C' for Cleo, 'N' for Nevaeh, 'T' for Talia, and 'A' for Avia."

"Oh, right!" Nevaeh exclaimed, suddenly understanding, "I remember now; Auntie Bee spent years trying to create that formula after the deuterium supplies ran out. But what does it have to do with Janeway?"

"Like I said, there were traces of it on the inoculation; indicating that it had been replicated. We were all questioned, and the security lab team went through the entire building. We were all cleared, apart from one person."

"The Admiral?" Nevaeh guessed. She ascertained from the look on her friend's face that she was correct, and her brain started to conjure up wild possibilities. "Is there going to be some sort of new mission? Will it be one of those multi-year things? Are _you _leaving?" She rattled out scenario after scenario, becoming more perplexed as she watched Cleo's face turn from amusement to regret as she drew closer to the standing office theory. "But, she can't be? It's impossible, not to mention unethical! How is she even supposed to-"

"The inoculation is a highly experimental one. If all goes well, it will be used to treat radiation in deep-space missions. I hate to break it to you, 'Vaeh, but time travel's been around for longer than you realise. Your mother went through the space-time continuum several times when she was on Voyager. "

"My mother?" Nevaeh asked. She had been a baby when her mother had died; and although she'd been told many, many stories about the woman who'd called herself 'Seven', Nevaeh couldn't help but feel a sort of dissociation from her. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain," Cleo answered, "All I can really remember from the lessons is that she got sent back through time over and over again. It ended with the arrest of some guy who'd tried to damage Voyager. I can't really remember the details." She looked worriedly at Nevaeh, whose face had become somewhat distorted with a mixture of confusion and concern. "But, anyway, it's all just speculation right now. Like I said, they're only rumours, but I doubt if the Admiral would like her old crew to find out about them."

"Yeah," Nevaeh agreed, distractedly. "Cleo, have you seen the log entries of the entire crew?"

"Pfft, I wish," Cleo snorted, "There's so many of them; both logs and crew. Admiral Taggart estimates that it would take five whole years to listen to every single Voyager log entry, and that's just back-to-back. I've seen a few ones from most of the crew. Why?"

"Have you seen any of my mother's?"

"Um, not very many; most of hers are protected by codes that even _I _can't figure out." Seeing that her friend was in danger of losing herself in the past again, Cleo asked the waiter for the bill. "What are you going to wear tonight 'Vaeh?"

"Huh?" Nevaeh murmured, snapping out of her reverie, "I haven't thought about it yet, you?"

"Me neither, I suppose we'd best get home and get ready. It starts in less than two hours."

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><p>The neutrally coloured apartment was decorated with helium balloons and multicoloured streamers; reminiscent of the hastily arranged 'welcome home' party the Voyager crew had received upon returning to Earth nearly fifteen years ago. The crew had aged, some more noticeably than others, and there were a number of excited children running about. Though there had been deaths, illnesses, and tragedies since Voyager's return, the former crewmates still held that air of camaraderie that had been ever-present during their time on the, now famous, ship.<p>

"Doc! How are you?" The warm voice of Tom Paris greeted his old friend jovially, extending a hand before drawing the hologram into a friendly embrace. Voyager's former pilot still walked with a slight limp; his left leg had been severely damaged in a shuttle incident twenty years before. He didn't particularly mind it, and those close to him had grown used to his altered walking style; they'd all come to the conclusion that it was better than the 'alternative' realised by the long-gone crewmember, and friend, Seven Of Nine.

"Well, Mister Paris, what a welcome! I'm good, thank you, and yourself?"

"Same old, same old; the daughters have given me a few more grey hairs since the last time we were all here, but life couldn't be better."

"I'm glad to hear it. Have you had much time for writing lately? Your last novel was quite the success." In honesty, The Doctor was a little jealous of the former pilot's success in his creative endeavours; his own career in arts and opera hadn't exactly gotten off to a triumphant start.

"Unfortunately not. Starfleet have got me teaching trainee pilots for the foreseeable future, and B'Elanna's been wanting the whole family to take a vacation for quite a while now."

"And you are but a humble man, eh?" The Doctor joked, sharing a knowing smile with his former protégé. "Still, how are the ladies?"

"They're fine. Luna and Lexi start 'big girl' school in September, and Talia's applying to do a course in Xenobiology at Croughtons. Avia's going up to High School next year, so it's been a bit of a rush to get everything done. Cleo and Nevaeh are doing well too; they've just bought an apartment together. Miral's graduated from the Academy at long last; she's travelling out to join the other Klingons at Korath's sacred temple."

"How time flies; it's good to hear that they're all okay. Especially Miral; it seems like she was born just yesterday, and now she's twenty three!"

"It's odd, isn't it? Do you feel old, having a fully grown woman for a Goddaughter?"

"I don't know Mister Paris, do _you_ feelold having a fully grown woman for a daughter?" The Doctor shot back; the conversations between them had become less strained over the years, and now that he wasn't responsible for training Tom to be a Medical Assistant, he found more humour in the man's words.

"Touché, Doc; I see you've gotten better with your comebacks since last year. But anyway, enough about us; is there a special somebody in your life yet?"

"Not as such. But there is this one woman, Lana. She's working as a psychiatric nurse at Starfleet Memorial. We've been out to dinner a few times, but nothing's come of it so far."

"Keep trying, Doc, she'd be crazy not to take things further. I take it she's human then?"

"Well done, Mister Paris; it would be absurd for two holograms to go out to dinner, considering that it's somewhat impossible for us to eat." The Doctor was amused by Tom's confusion. "Besides, I'd have thought that, in this day and age, we'd be able to look beyond matters such as race."

"Are you kidding? I think it's great; I'm in a mixed marriage myself."

"Ah yes," The Doctor said, smiling warmly, "Where is that wife of yours?"

...

"The High Council have a lot of questions," B'Elanna warned. She was concerned about Admiral Janeway; the older woman had been overly interested in the Federation's new dealings with the Klingons. The two women stood apart from the general group, speaking in hushed tones. It was, admittedly, becoming something of a task for B'Elanna to keep her voice quiet, but she was becoming increasingly aware of the various children running around the room, and didn't want to ruin the atmosphere of the reunion for them.

Somewhat alarmed, Janeway replied, "What did you tell them?"

"The truth," she replied, before deciding to tease a little, "With a Klingon twist. I told them that my former Captain, who had saved my life many times in battle, would be honoured to enter Korath's sacred temple."

"Did it work?" enquired Janeway, somewhat incredulous.

Resignedly, B'Elanna said, "Well, I'm only the Federation Liaison, but I'd like to think that I have some influence." After a brief pause, she tentatively asked, "You still haven't told me why you're trying to help Korath. Does it have anything to do with why my daughter's being sent out there?"

"B'Elanna, you know that I can't tell you that."

"Yes you could. I know protocol, Admiral, but this is my _daughter_ we're talking about."

"All I can say is that she will be working closely with the scientists. We're going to do our best to keep her as far away from harm as possible, but it's a very dangerous place."

"You think that I don't know that, Admiral? I'm sorry if I'm coming across as rude here, but it just seems to me like you're playing Russian Roulette with my daughter's life!"

"Calm down, B'Elanna." Janeway snapped, "There's no need to get hysterical, and make a scene. She'll be fine."

"Who are you to tell me how I should act?" B'Elanna replied, outraged. "My daughter's life is on the line, and all you can do is tell me not to 'make a scene'. The last time you ordered me not to get hysterical, Seven died, and I nearly lost my husband. You have no _idea _what you're talking about." With that, the former Chief Engineer walked away from the Admiral, who stood there with her arms crossed and an affronted look on her face.

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><p>"What's wrong, mom?" Cleo said, running over and wrapping her arms around her mother, "I just saw you talking to the Admiral; what did she say?"<p>

"Yeah, Auntie Bee, she's not giving you any hassle, is she?" Nevaeh asked. She had become even warier of the Admiral in the past year, having been on the end of a particularly spiteful comment.

"No, girls, I'm fine," she replied, drawing Nevaeh into the embrace. "She's just being her usual self. When did you two get here?"

"About ten minutes ago," Nevaeh replied. "We only took so long because _somebody _couldn't decide what to wear."

"I know, 'Vaeh, you took _ages..."_

"You liar!" Nevaeh pouted, crossing her arms in an act of mock offence. "Yeah, okay, maybe a little. But you definitely took the longest."

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Girls! It's hard to believe that you're both in your twenties; you're acting like the twins." B'Elanna admonished jokingly; she knew that they were only playing around. She'd come to know the difference between their fake fighting and their real battles from raising the two of them through their teenage years. Upon hearing their, obviously insincere murmurs of 'Sorry mom', and 'I'm sorry, Auntie Bee', she laughed, before walking them over to see some old friends.

"May I have your attention everyone?" Admiral Janeway asked, standing at the head of the table. She'd obviously composed herself after the heated exchange with B'Elanna, and was about to give the 'survivor's speech'. "It's hard to believe that Voyager first set out from Starfleet over thirty years ago with hopes of returning home within the year. It would have made our lives a lot easier if that had been the case, but now, I couldn't imagine life any other way. I'm glad that everybody who's been able to come is here, and I hope that you'll all be coming for many more years. But let's just take a moment to remember those of us who cannot be here." The atmosphere in the room became maudlin, everybody remembering their own losses. The people who'd been in Engineering remembered Joe Carey, the man that would have become their Chief Engineer had the job not been given to B'Elanna; she still mourned his death, even though twenty-three years had passed. Naomi Wildman and her mother remembered Neelix, the friendly Talaxian who'd rarely failed in his attempts to brighten up both Voyager, and its crew. Those who'd been in the Maquis remembered the friends and comrades they'd had before joining the Starfleet crew; knowing that they'd have endured the same cruel fate had they not been lucky enough to run into Voyager. "I hope you have a good night." The Admiral said, shaking the 'family' from its thoughts.

...

The four walls of the living room were painted in a creamy chocolate colour. It was a complete mishmash of cultures; both Klingon paraphernalia and tribal figurines had their place. A large coffee table was placed in the center of the room, covered with Cleo's work papers and Nevaeh's music sheets. Several scented candles were scattered on the shelves, most of them lit. Nevaeh was curled up on the largest chair, fully enveloped in her large blanket as she juggled a piece of strawberry tart and a mug of hot chocolate. Despite the fact that it was still summer, the weather had been getting colder and colder.

"Well, it was nowhere as bad as last year." Cleo said, sitting down on the couch with her bowl of chocolate pudding. "I thought that she was going to start going on about the deaths when she called for those few minute's silence, but it was okay."

"I suppose," Nevaeh replied, after taking another mouthful of her strawberry tart. "But it would have been better if she'd just have kept her mouth shut. I know that it's important that we honour the dead, Cleo, but it totally ruined the party. I didn't see little Sabrina smile again for the whole night. It's not really appropriate to dull the mood of a party so much that a three-year-old feels she can't laugh and play."

"I agree; she should have slipped it in at the end. But still, there's always next year; maybe she'll get better at this whole 'speech' thing."

"Or we could just get Uncle Tom to do it. He'd have the whole place in stitches, and manage not to kill the atmosphere after."

"Yeah," Cleo said, laughing at the thought of her father trying to be serious in front of a whole room of people. "What do you think we should do about Janeway anyway?"

"If I were you," Nevaeh said, "I'd wait for some more concrete proof. Let's not forget, you could be horribly wrong; if you were to take this to the courts a whole load of checks would have to be done. If you're wrong you'll lose your job."

"I guess." Cleo agreed, resignedly, before perking up when she heard the replicator ping, "On another note, do you want some Chinese food? I managed to steal the rest of the leftovers from the reunion."

"That's not very nice," Nevaeh said, laughing softly, "Janeway might have wanted to eat that."

"Oh well," Cleo replied, shrugging her shoulders noncommittally, "Sucks to be her."


	2. Photographs and Phases

**Title: Shreds and Shards**

**Summary: ****Following both her mother's tragic demise, and her father's sudden disappearance, can Nevaeh Kotay manage to save them both by altering the past? Endgame AU.**

**Author's Note: A big, MASSIVE shout-out to my brilliant beta, scifiromance; I was really nervous about this chapter, but thanks to her I've managed to kick it into shape and I can't thank her enough! There's quite a fair bit of time jumping in this chapter, and I think I'd better explain. The first part is set around six months before Chapter 1; the second part is a little snapshot of the first Christmas after Voyager returned; the third is, well… it'll explain itself, and the last section is the continuation of Chapter 1 (there will be less turbulence as this story progresses). I hope you enjoy reading this, and I'll see you on the other side, so to speak ^_^.**

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><p><strong>7<strong>**th**** January 2402**

Nevaeh looked glumly at the window, counting the droplets of rain dribbling down the clean, clear glass. She normally preferred cold, rainy weather to bright sunshine, her reasoning being that it's easier to be cold and then warm up than to be too hot and unable to cool off. If it had been a regular day she'd have contemplated going for a walk with Tucker, hers and Cleo's lofty Pit Bull; but given the particular date she decided against it, wanting nothing more than to just curl up and sleep the rest of the miserable day away. She'd received the customary phone calls from those who thought it important to know that they were still 'thinking of her', even though they barely acknowledged her existence all throughout the rest of the year; these had only served to deepen her pensive mood. She'd called in sick at her college, San Francisco's 'Academy of Arts and Opera', unwilling to face the sympathetic faces of her friends and peers; this act had earned her an email of reprimand from her lecturer, Mr Joseph Brocknell, a thoroughly disagreeable man with whom Nevaeh had never really seen eye-to-eye. She hadn't made the best of first impressions on him: being deliberately cheeky and quick-witted in her first week had led him to tar her with the brush of 'trouble-maker', a title she had long-since given up on trying to shrug off. His overbearing ways often reminded her of another authority figure she didn't particularly go out of her way to impress: Admiral Kathryn Janeway, the same woman who'd driven her to tears at last year's reunion. "Tucker," she called, hearing her dog's whimpers, "Come here boy." _Just because I'm miserable as sin doesn't mean you have to be, _she added in her thoughts. She petted him on the head before gently kissing the top of his head. "Who's my lickle Tucker boy?" she cooed, shamelessly indulging in a stream of 'baby speak' that made the object of her attentions wag his tail in delight. "Love you so much!" she exclaimed, grabbing him and placing him on her lap like he was still a little puppy. "Okay, boy! I know you love me, you can stop now!" she squealed, both delighted and grossed out by the amount of dog dribble that had been transferred onto her face from Tucker's over-zealous show of affection.

When Tucker finally calmed down she reclined further back into her chair, basking in the sounds of the youngest three Paris children enjoying their day at home; their respective schools had sent the majority of teachers on a course explaining the new curriculum. Screams of "It's MINE Lexi' and "Is NOT Luna' echoed from the twins, whilst Avia just shouted at them every now and again to 'Shut up!' Their banter and conversations provided a strange sort of comfort for her; reminding her of when she was a kid. Her father, for the brief time he'd been in her life, had been very big on family, despite only having a short bloodline himself. As a young child, Nevaeh had never shied away from her 'adoptive Voyager family'; as her father used to say: _'Blood may be thicker than water, but friends are the family that you choose for yourself.' _Nevaeh had taken his word solemnly, and it was that particular piece of advice that had led her to her current position; sprawled out in her old bedroom at her godparents' house after sneaking in whilst the adults were upstairs in the office. The children had noticed her, of course, but they were easily quietened down with a warning look and a handful of chocolate each.

"Nevaeh Madeleine Kotay." B'Elanna Torres said, walking into the room where her goddaughter sat with her dog. "Not that it isn't always a pleasure to have you around, but why aren't you at college?"

"No particular reason, Auntie Bee; I'm just tired." Nevaeh answered, knowing instantly that B'Elanna didn't believe her. The older woman rolled her eyes, but decided not to pursue it any further, reminding Nevaeh of why she thought of her godmother as more than just an honorary aunt. "I didn't want to go in and have everyone staring at me like they have to be extra careful on the tenth anniversary." she offered, casting her eyes furtively to the ground, "I got the round of calls from people saying that they were 'sorry' again. It's a pity that none of them actually mean it."

"They do mean it sweetie," B'Elanna soothed, sitting down beside the young girl, "We're all sorry that he's gone."

"But you don't understand," Nevaeh exclaimed, raking her hands through her unwashed hair. "I don't want people to be 'sorry' anymore. I'm sick of all the backwards glances and whispered conversations of 'oh look, there's the poor little orphan girl'. I've dealt with his not being here; why can't everyone else?"

"I understand more than you think I do," B'Elanna replied, wincing as she recalled her own fatherless adolescence. Nevaeh cringed as she remembered the stories she'd been told about Paris clan's maternal grandfather; though he was quite heavily involved in all six of his granddaughters' lives, he still shared a somewhat dysfunctional relationship with his own child. For a fleeting moment, Nevaeh wondered how _she'd _react if her father suddenly appeared out of the blue one day, expecting some sort of relationship with her and her future children. She felt a sudden rush of respect for her godmother's restraint and patience; she knew that would probably not welcome her own father back quite the same level of acquiescence.

"You know, Auntie Bee, I'm really happy that I got the chance to grow up with you guys," she said, smiling a grieved grin. "I've never once felt like I didn't belong."

"We do try not to treat you any differently from the rest of our girls," B'Elanna replied, stroking Nevaeh's long hair comfortingly. It had been difficult, at first, to take a grieving ten-year-old girl into her, already full to the brim, household, but they'd managed. They'd held her through her night-terrors, sorted out the issues at school, and had even taken her along to the odd Klingon festival (they didn't attend that many) so that she didn't feel excluded from family life. Seven's former protégé, Icheb, had been particularly helpful; even going as far to renovate his office into a bedroom for Nevaeh for the one weekend a month she spent with him and his wife, Ayra. He often insisted that it was not a problem; Nevaeh was something of a comfort to the couple who'd been painfully unsuccessful in their attempts to have a child of their own. Even now, despite Nevaeh being in her twenties, they still saw a lot of her, so strong were the ties that bonded them. "You're a part of this family as well, Nevaeh, don't you ever forget that."

"I won't," the young girl replied, grimacing as Tucker sneezed over her hair. "I think I'm going to have a wash. Do you mind watching Tucker for me?"

"Go ahead" B'Elanna said, laughing at the dopey dog, who'd rolled over onto his back in anticipation of tickles, "There are fresh towels in the closet."

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><p><strong>20<strong>**th**** December 2387**

"You know, 'Vaeh, you won't grow to be big and strong if you don't drink all your milk." Chakotay said, smiling inwardly as his daughter pouted.

"I don't care," she retorted, folding her arms across her chest and giving her father a pointed look. "I don't like it, and I'm not going to drink it." She knew that she was being rude and misbehaving terribly, and she didn't really mind the taste of the milk at all; it was the temperature that was the problem. She could only bring herself to drink milk if it was freshly cold from the fridge, and this particular glass had been sitting on the kitchen worktop for fifteen minutes. She knew she was fighting a losing battle, and that she'd have to drink the milk before she went to bed, but it was a matter of principle now, or so she'd managed to convince herself.

"Nevaeh," Chakotay warned, lowering his tone; he rarely had to _tell_ his daughter to do something, usually just asking for her compliance was enough. "You are going to drink this milk before bed, or you can't have your advent calendar chocolate tonight." He wasn't all too sure why he was having this particular disagreement with her, the phrase _'Choose your battles wisely' _came to mind, but she'd been sulky all day and hadn't done anything she had been told to do. He'd ignored it for the most part, putting it down to sleepiness, but her refusal to drink something that she usually _asked_ for every night had been the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.

"But... but" she stuttered in disbelief. "You _have _to eat advent calendar chocolate at Christmas; it's the _law!"_

"Well then, young lady, if it's the law I suppose I'll _have _to let you eat your advent calendar," he said, wishing for the billionth time that day that Seven could have been there with them; surely _she _could have found a way to make their daughter drink her milk without resorting to bribery and empty threats of taking away treats. "And since it's the _law _that you have to do as your father tells you, you'd better drink up." His daughter, despite her quite grown-up way of presenting herself to the outside world, was subject to bouts of naivety that showed her tender six years of age. She had barely grasped basic life on Earth; the sudden upheaval of everything she'd ever known had affected her more harshly than Chakotay had anticipated it would. It was their first Christmas away from Voyager, and although they were both looking forward to it they both secretly yearned for the old crew to reunite for the occasion. They kept this wish a secret from the other however, not wanting the other to feel as though they were not enough.

"Are you sure that's the law, Papa?" Nevaeh questioned, a disbelieving look on her face. "Because I don't think it is."

"Would I lie to you?" he said, sitting on the chair opposite from his sulky offspring; it was not really the official law, of course, that Nevaeh should do everything she was told, _but it's part of the law of common sense, _he reasoned with himself.

"I suppose not," Nevaeh conceded, sighing in a way that made Chakotay wince as he thought how alike Nevaeh was to her late mother; she had always been regretful in defeat, and their daughter was no different. "Can I put it back in the fridge to cool down before I drink it? I don't like it when it's not cold."

"You promise me you'll drink it?" Chakotay asked, pleased when Nevaeh nodded her agreement. "Okay then, go and brush your teeth while you wait." Nevaeh groaned with the irony of it all; if there was one thing she hated more than lukewarm milk, it was the new banana-flavoured toothpaste she'd begged Chakotay to buy for her. It was only after he'd purchased the yellow tube and she'd used it that she remembered that she didn't like bananas; but it was too late by then, and he'd refused to get her a new flavour, saying that she'd learn from experience. "Well, do you want your teeth to rot?" he questioned teasingly, laughing as she picked up her pace on the way to the bathroom.

* * *

><p><strong>17<strong>**th**** January 2392**

"... He was last seen around the entrance of San Francisco General at six PM last Monday, wearing his official Starfleet uniform" Harmony Harper, 'StarfleetTV's' top reporter said, detailing Chakotay's disappearance to the viewers of the 9 o'clock news. "He stands at six foot five, and weighs in at around 180 pounds. A distinctive tribal tattoo is on the left side of his forehead, and he is thought to be in the general San Francisco area. If you have any information, you can contact the police at..."

"Turn it off, Tom." Admiral Janeway ordered wearily, annoyed with the chirpy voice and optimistic tone of Harper's report. Most of Voyager's Senior Officers had reunited in light of Chakotay's sudden disappearance; the only exceptions being the Commander himself, and his late wife, Seven of Nine. "Do any of you have any clue as to where he might be?" she asked in a slightly more friendly tone.

"No, we haven't; and even if we did, don't you think we'd have told someone by now, Kathryn?" B'Elanna snapped, not caring that she was speaking out of turn. "This just isn't like him!" she stressed, rising from her seat to attend to Avia, her two-month-old baby; "He wouldn't just leave like this without a word, especially considering that Nevaeh's been so unwell."

"It is somewhat unusual," Janeway replied, trying to be rational despite being put off by B'Elanna's dismissal of her 'title'. Of course, as the former Chief Engineer didn't work for Starfleet anymore she was not obligated to abide by formalities, but it was another tradition broken, and another nail in the coffin that had been Voyager. "Speaking of the little lady, where will she be staying until Chakotay's been found?"

"With us, obviously." Tom said, juggling the remote and a spare orange he'd picked up from the desk. At the sudden outbreak of insistent offers, nearly everybody wanted Nevaeh to stay with them, Tom became angry. "I don't care if you all _want _her to stay with you. Don't you think she's been through enough in these past few months, what with all the upheaval? She has her own bed at our house, and an entire wardrobe full of her _own_ clothes. It won't be ideal for her, to suddenly have to come and live with us after being in hospital for so long, but it'll be a lot less intrusive for her to stay with her godparents than with people she only sees once or twice a year!"

"It would be for the best," Tuvok, one of the only two people to not demand that Nevaeh stay with him, agreed. "If I can be of any assistance, Mister Paris, please let me know." he offered to the father of four, who smiled gratefully at the unexpected camaraderie. The rest of the senior officers mumbled their hesitant agreement, each of them suitably chastised.

"Same goes for me, guys, if there's anything you need. I'll let Icheb know about the situation when I get back to Starfleet." Captain Harry Kim offered. "He'll probably also want to know what he can do to help you guys out; you know how much he cares about Nevaeh."

"Thanks Harry," Tom said, relieved that the others were starting to see his point. "I'm sure she'd be flattered to know that you all want to look after her, but she's going to have enough to deal with without having to get used to someone new."

"Where is she now?" Janeway asked.

"She's still in San Francisco General." B'Elanna replied. "We'll be picking her up on our way home."

"Does she know about Chakotay yet?"

"Well," B'Elanna said, looking down at the table, "She told me that he said 'goodbye' to her on his last visit."

"Oh" Janeway whispered, also lowering her eyes. She placed a hand over her eyes and made her voice quieter still; "Chakotay, how could you?"

"What's the matter with that, guys?" Harry asked. "He was leaving, he said goodbye, so what?"

"It's not goodbye, Harry." Tom said. There was a hint of something in his tone; anger, _regret_? "It's 'see you later', 'until next time' or 'I'll be back soon'. It's not goodbye, it's _never _goodbye!"

"You mean...? You're saying that he left. On purpose?" Harry replied, floundering slightly in disbelief. "He wouldn't do that. He'd _never _do that!"

"I beg to differ." B'Elanna interjected, passing Avia to Tom. "You don't know what he's been like since Voyager made it back. He's felt guilty about Seven's death ever since it happened, but these past four years have really opened a lot of old wounds for him. To be honest, his recent behaviour reminds me of what he used to be like as our Maquis Captain. He's been irritable, snappy, and angry; it's like he wants revenge for what happened to Seven."

"But, Nevaeh-"

"Oh, he's fine around her; she's pretty much the only thing keeping him going, or at least she _was._"

"I just can't believe it." Harry said, his brow crinkling with confusion, "He's always been so... so _sane. _To just leave without a word to any of us is crazy."

"Wouldn't you be, Harry? If you lost Melinda do you think you'd still be sane?" B'Elanna argued, jumping up from her chair as if it'd scalded her. "How could I have been so _stupid?_"

"What are you talking about?" Janeway asked, her head snapping up in sudden interest.

"I should have known this was coming." B'Elanna ranted, pacing around the room. "He gave me all sorts of hints. He'd ask me if I'd be there for Nevaeh if anything was to happen to him; he'd ask us to have her at our house for weeks at a time. I never minded; Nevaeh's like another daughter to me, but it's like he's been preparing us all for this."

"Preparing us all for what?" Janeway questioned, urging B'Elanna to continue despite already knowing the answer.

"For his leaving." she finished, lowering her arms dejectedly.

* * *

><p><strong>3<strong>**rd**** August 2402**

Family portraits hung above the mantelpiece, each with its own story. A picture of B'Elanna and Tom on their wedding day had been placed in the middle, the centre of a spider's web of pictures and memories. The Doctor had managed to replicate a camera to capture the magic moments following the birth of Miral, his first godchild; the end result being a grainy picture of a besotted father, a relieved mother, and a happy, contented little baby. Cleo's birth had seen the same treatment, except that it had been Cleo's own godfather, Harry Kim, who'd taken the picture. As they'd been appointed to be Nevaeh's godparents, there was also a snapshot of Seven, Chakotay, and Nevaeh taken just minutes after her birth. It was one of the only three photos taken of the three as a family before Seven's death, the other two being official Starfleet portraits. Voyager's fourth eldest, and last baby had been Talia. Miral was holding her in the picture, with the rest of the family standing and sitting protectively around. It had been a slightly different story with Avia. Born six years after Voyager had returned home, she had been born in a local hospital. B'Elanna had been wary about someone other than The Doctor delivering her baby, but due to a fluke with the working hours, he had been able to calm her fears by delivering Avia himself. The photo contained the entire family, excluding Nevaeh, who'd been in a different ward in the same hospital with a chest infection. They'd been unable to take a picture following the twins' birth; they'd been two months premature and had to be kept in incubation units for eleven weeks. The family portrait with them, taken when they were three months old, had contained everybody who'd attended the birth; all five of the other girls, B'Elanna, Tom, The Doctor, Icheb, and the twins' godfather, Tuvok.

B'Elanna stared at the visual documentation of her family life, an existence that she'd known for the past twenty years, with a particular fondness. She found it especially fascinating to see how she'd gotten older; an activity not so cherished with other women of the same age, but one she enjoyed nonetheless. She often looked at her husband's progression through the years also; seeing him turn from a fresh-faced optimistic young man who'd never been quite so comfortable in his own shoes, to a still-optimistic older man with more than a few 'laughter lines' and a twinkle in his eye, never failed to make her smile and thank the heavens that she'd managed to find him. "What are you thinking about now?" the man in question asked, walking into the room with a two plates of chocolate cake.

"Nothing much, just reminiscing." she replied, taking the plate he offered her with a nod of thanks. "Did the girls go to sleep okay?"

"I think so. Lexi keeps whining about something Luna said to her whilst they were at school, but other than that they seem to be fine." Tom said, casting an arm around her waist before pulling her gently down onto the couch beside him.

"Next time I think I'll just take them shopping with me," B'Elanna said, relaxing into her husband's embrace. "The girls made such a mess of Nevaeh's kitchen; I don't think she'll be offering to babysit again anytime soon."

"Well, I actually got a call from Cleo asking if we'd be okay with her and Nevaeh taking the twins, Avia, and Talia to the funfair next Friday."

"Brave, foolish girls." B'Elanna stated, shaking her head amusedly. "I don't have a problem with it, you?"

"Nope. Besides, it'd give us a bit of alone time, haven't had _that _in a while, have we?"

"What is this 'alone time' you speak of?" B'Elanna teased, setting her plate down onto the coffee table. Tom did the same, taking care not to knock over the two glasses of wine that stood precariously on the edge of the glass tabletop. They sat together in silence for a while, each contemplating the past and how things could have turned out differently. In the space of five minutes they'd ended up curled up against one another in a position that would have once been awkward for the both of them, her head on his chest and his arm around her waist; but over the years they'd become closer and more comfortable with each other, and unconsciously sought out comfort from the other. "Do you think it's stupid?" she asked, her voice thick with relaxation.

"What do you mean?"

"The reunion; do you think it's stupid that we still go every year despite knowing what's going to happen?"

"I don't think it's _stupid _at all; optimistic might be the word for it though. I keep thinking that I'll walk through those doors one year and see the entire crew as we used to be, all happy and friendly. I keep expecting to see everyone we've lost along the way sitting there with a glass to toast with, and a smile on their face. Every year I'm sure that The Admiral's speech will be a little more positive, a little more cheery. Yeah, optimistic is the word; I really don't know why we bother going. Every year it's the same, I can sum up next year for you right here: Someone's pregnant, a few people have had kids, some are people sick, and another friend is dead. I swear, every time we go we lose a piece of what Voyager used to be."

"I know what you mean." B'Elanna replied, sighing as her husband confirmed her worst fears; he too had lost all hope with their Voyager family. "We can't just not turn up though, I think the reunions are the only thing keeping some people going. If they dry up completely it'll all be over, and Voyager won't exist anymore. The ship will, the tin walls will be noted down in history books and Starfleet records, but _our _story will be forgotten if we all just abandon each other like the journey never happened."

"I suppose it's better to cherish the few pieces we have left." Tom agreed. They were silent again for a few minutes, and they both took the time to reflect on the reunions; some had been good, others tainted with more than just the due amount of sadness.

"I saw _him_ the other day," B'Elanna said, stifling a wayward yawn. Her half-closed eyes were aflame with sorrow and a hint of anger.

"Really?" Tom asked in the same tired tone. "What do you think he wanted?"

"I have no idea. He just sat there and stared at me, didn't move a muscle."

"What did he look like?" Tom asked, being careful to keep his voice neutral and unassuming; the man had been his friend once, after all.

"He looked pretty much the same." B'Elanna replied, huddling closer into her husband's embrace. "He's lost a lot of weight, though, and his hair is nearly all silver now. The thing that struck me most was how utterly _lost _he looked. His eyes were so, so... It just looked like he was begging to be let back in, like he wanted to be given another chance, but I just didn't know-"

"It's okay, 'Lanna, it's okay." Tom soothed, stroking her back comfortingly. "Listen to me. He could have come back at any time in the last ten years to make things right but he _didn't_. He could have come back and worked for his family, for his forgiveness, but he _didn't. _I won't have you feeling sorry for a man who abandoned his daughter; you _know _how much that can affect someone, how it messed you up for a while, would you have wanted anyone to feel sorry for your dad?"

"I guess not." B'Elanna agreed, wiping away a stray tear. "But I don't think I'd be able to ignore it if I ever see him again. It's stupid that I'm still so mad with him after ten years. I have all these questions I want to ask him."

"Everyone has, babe, but he chose to leave, and that's the only thing that really matters. There have been times over the years when _I've_ wanted to pack it in and just be on my own for a while, but I love you and the girls too much to ever leave the way that he has. It might not have been his fault, but that kind of weakness is unforgivable. I know it's hard for you to have to watch the past repeat itself, but you have to let go of what he used to be." It pained Tom to have to speak these harsh words to his wife about the man who'd been a great and dear friend to the both of them, but they both knew that she needed to hear it, despite her soft whimpers of protest. "B'Elanna, look at me. If it'd been me that had left you and the kids for over ten years and you suddenly saw me one day, what would you have done?"

"I'd have killed you where you stood," she muttered, burying her face in his chest once more. She waited for his reply of something witty, something to lighten the mood, but it never came. All that arrived were gentle caresses of her back and hair, and murmured words of comfort that meant both nothing and everything. What upset her most about Chakotay's 'disappearance' was that he'd been the first man who'd stuck by her, despite seeing her at her worst. He'd been, to her, almost a second father, an alternative voice of reason. He'd pulled her out from the murky depths of a downward spiral and polished her into someone who'd shined. They'd fought, both with one another and with the rest of the world, and he'd promised her that he'd always be there for her. His leaving hadn't just affected his sole heir and only surviving member of his bloodline; it'd also destroyed a part of _her. _

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><p><strong>AN2: I know, I know... What the he-double-hockey-sticks is going on with Chakotay? I promise that everything will become clear in future chapters, so try and trust me with this! Please review and tell me what you think! ^_^<strong>


	3. Lost and Found

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! I know it's been a while (nearly, what is it... eight months?) since I've posted or updated anything, and I'm really sorry. I won't go into the reasons why, because, hey, it's boring and you're here to read the next chapter of this story, not me moaning on about how hectic everything is on the home front. I owe the biggest thank-you in the universe to the wonderful **_**scifiromance, **_**who has not only been great to talk to, but who has taken on one of my stories 'The Borg With Butterfly Wings' so that I have more time to focus on this one, and then also taking time out to beta my chapters and convince me that they're not complete rubbish. Also, thank you to all those who are reading this after so long; I haven't exactly done the best job of keeping in contact and reviewing like I've been wanting to, but I'll catch up eventually. Happy reading :D**

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><p>Twirling the end of his cigarette in between his pinched, chapped lips, Chakotay allowed himself one last drag from his only vice. After over a century's worth of campaigning by evangelical doctors and scientists, cigarettes had been outlawed in the early 2100s, but he hadn't seen the harm in poisoning himself the first time, after some despicably smug Ferengi had pressed a pack into his hands in some gnarly back street bar, and he still didn't. A heavy, pungent cloud of nicotine, tar, and other chemicals filled his leaden lungs, and he found himself transfixed by the ghostly glow of the naked night sky. Several thoughts crossed his mind as he kept himself locked inside his room. The air was crisp, clear with the exception of the fluttering wisps of his exhaled smoke, but he knew that there was an added dimness to it all: a condensed mixture of depression, confusion, and grief. First, there was this whole business of getting over the death of his beloved wife, Seven of Nine. She'd met her untimely demise over twenty years ago, but the pain was still as raw for him as it had been when he had kissed her fragile, lifeless lips for the last time in the far corner of Voyager's Sickbay. The mechanical whirrs and clicks of the biobeds and overheads mixed with the gentle sobbing of B'Elanna, who was just as grief stricken as himself for her own spouse; it was a sound he'd never allowed himself to forget.<p>

For a brief while after her death he'd contemplated moving on, but the thing about moving on was that it was all too cliché, too melodramatic. It all could have been different if he had been alone, because he knew himself, and could easily have become apathetic. But every second, benevolent glances from crew members reminded him that mourning forbade his happiness. Even the earliest steps he took towards moving on after Seven's death: eating in the Mess Hall for the first time, the first shift back on the Bridge, had been interrupted by the obligatory reassurances of undying friendship and support. He'd sought comfort from a select few, and allowed himself to accept their help; but condolences from anybody else, he felt, were the result of 'protocol'.

And there had been his daughter. _Their_ daughter: Nevaeh. The sweet baby, with her honey-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes that would soon melt into a gaudy hazel; she would never know her mother. She should have been his salvation, his reason for living as normal a life as possible, and in an ideal existence she would have been; of course, in an ideal existence Seven wouldn't have died, and there would be no need for comfort. He'd read in countless books over the years that after the death of a spouse, a child often provides the most solid form of comfort, a living homage to the fact that a person can live on forever; but he'd discovered, much to his personal discredit, that being with his daughter, the girl who looked so much like her mother, left him emotionally drained and desperate for a way out. He loved her; there was no doubt about that in _anybody's _mind, but being the sole parent of a child who came very close to dying at least twice a year whittled away quite substantially at him.

'Acute Nanopathogenal Disorder' had been The Doctor's diagnosis of Neveah's symptoms. He'd had to give the condition a name himself, effectively securing himself a mention in numerous future medical manuals; but for the first time since he'd been given his personality, promises of fame and recognition meant little: _she_ was dead. The woman he'd helped to grow, the most perfect specimen of individuality he had ever felt anything for, was dead; it had affected him more than should be appropriate for a purely doctor-patient relationship, but they'd known each other, they'd been _friends._ He'd worked very closely with Seven both before and during her pregnancy, and had been constantly checking her blood levels, nanoprobe activity, and the baby itself. Despite the unfamiliar territory he'd been placed into he'd tried his best, and the parents-to-be had both been completely happy to entrust their baby daughter's life to his capable hands. It had shocked and saddened both him and Chakotay when they had found out that the months of intensive treatment and enforced bed-rest had been fruitless, and that Nevaeh would need to take daily medication in order to stop the nanoprobes in her bloodstream from killing her tiny body. It was of some small solace to Chakotay, in the years that had followed his wife's death that they had never told her of Nevaeh's illness; she surely would have blamed herself.

But saving Seven the pain of knowing she had passed on her hazardous bio-makeup to their daughter had not been much comfort to him during the twenty-something times he'd had to sit on the small, uncomfortable bedside chair beside Nevaeh's hospital bed; because if she'd known, at least he would have had someone with whom to share the burden. He mentally cursed himself for that thought every time it came to him, because B'Elanna had always been there, as had Tom, Icheb, and a few others, but there had been times that they couldn't be there, and those were always the worst times. He knew that that was also a selfish thought; everybody else did have their _own _lives to go back to, and he had oftentimes been overcome with relief at their support. It had gotten tiring after a while, constantly having to be either in a state of insurmountable grief or delirious with relief and gratitude, and the steady, well-placed mask of widowed husband and loving, coping father began to chafe away at him. He'd worn this martyred façade like a comfortable old coat, and slipped in and out of it as the seasons turned until he just couldn't do it anymore.

* * *

><p>Admiral Janeway sat at her desk, hands clasped anxiously above a stack of Starfleet PADDs. She'd just had a meeting with the Director, and she was certain that the other higher-ups were suspicious; She'd managed to blow off the long hours and endless documents to her colleagues as a 'research project', but the missing samples of Macenitoa, as well as the vials of Chronexaline and other trial inoculations, had been the thing that had cemented their curiosity. After wringing her hands in thought, she pressed the intercom; "Cleo, please report to my office," she ordered, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil.<p>

"I'll be right there," came the reply, startling Janeway from her silence. Was she really about to do this? It was one thing to have thought up this plan, but quite another to pass it on to a child. _They're not children anymore, _her inner voice reminded her; though the thought comforted her none, she'd watched them grow... they may not have been her children, but they were Voyager's babies, and in as much her own as she could ever hope to have. Her hopes of reconciliation with the fiancé she'd left behind after Voyager's launch, Mark, had been dashed with the sudden knowledge that he had, in fact, moved on and had a family with his new wife Georgie. She had always considered Mark to be her 'One', and the mere thought of spending the rest of her life with anybody else, now that the opportunity was there, was a thought she found to be more confining than spending the rest of her life in the empty vacuum of an anti-gravity chamber. "Admiral, is it okay to come in?" Cleo's voice asked, polite as ever.

"Of course," Janeway granted, pressing the _release door _button and laughing inwardly at the hyped-up security. Cleo walked in, striding into the office as confidently as her mother had done in her Engineering lab, and the similarities did not end there. In recent weeks, Cleo had instructed her hair stylist to cut her long, wavy hair into a short layered bob. _How time flies..._ Janeway thought, noting that the only differences, appearance-wise, between the woman that stood before her expectantly, and her mother, were the slightly less pronounced forehead, and the gentle streaks of blonde through her hair. "Ensign, thank you for coming so quickly."

"Not a problem," Cleo replied, grinning suddenly, the toothy smile bringing about Janeway's own.

"Hey, you've got another six hour shift ahead of you before you can clock off, why are you so happy?" Janeway asked, her teasing tone becoming increasingly natural.

"Just am. What's up?"

"Cleo," Janeway said, the humour in her eyes fading away. _Do it, _she told herself, wishing that the words she was about to say didn't bring her so much pain. "I have considered it an honour to watch you, your sisters, Naomi, and Nevaeh grow into the people you are today. I couldn't have asked for a better legacy for Voyager, really, I couldn't."

"Admiral?"

"Do you ever think how things could have been if we'd managed to get home sooner?"

"I-" Cleo stammered, unsure of how to react to the Admiral's pensive questioning. Just ten minutes ago she'd been laughing along with Naomi during one of their weekly catch-ups and now she didn't know how to act. "Not really," she admitted, "I can't see how much different our lives would be."

"So you never think of how things would be if we hadn't lost all those people? If you'd had a normal childhood?"

"I don't know what you want me to say, Admiral. I know the journey was hard for the crew, and that we lost many people, but Voyager _was_ my early childhood, I wouldn't change it for the world. Where are you going with this?"

"Look, Cleo." Janeway sighed, realising that she could hedge around the subject no longer. "I've no doubt you've heard the rumours concerning me and the disappearance of the vials of Chronexaline."

"Oh," Cleo murmured, blushing as though she'd been caught out in a secret, "I've heard some things."

"Some pretty damning things, no doubt?"

"Some of the rumours are pretty crazy."

"Care to relay any of them to me?"

"No." Cleo bristled, tired of the verbal rally that was cutting into her lunch break for no apparent reason. "I'm not a snitch," she added, folding her arms defensively.

"You're your mother's daughter," Janeway laughed. Seeing Cleo's exasperated expression, she clasped her hands. "Cleo, sit down."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to."

"It's not an order?"

"You can continue to stand up if you so wish, but we are about to have a very important conversation that could change the lives of many, many people. I think it would be for the best if you trust me on this one."

"Okay." Cleo replied, a hint of caution creeping into her voice. She sat down in the black leather chair on the opposite side of the desk to Janeway, trying to read the expression on the former Captain's face.

"Cleo, what I am about to tell you is to stay between the two of us until you have come to a decision about whether you'll accept this mission or not. Is that understood?"

_Mission... _Cleo thought, _but I've only been here for half a year! "_Yes, o- of course."

"For the past ten years I have been working on a solution to the Voyager problem. We lost too many people on that journey, Cleo, for me to let them go as 'necessary casualties'. I was naive, really, to think that I could bring us all back unharmed. I thought I was being a good Captain, adhering to Starfleet protocols like a new Bible, keeping up the morale of my people, but thanks to a wonderful little thing called hindsight, I can see that I made many mistakes. Mistakes that I'd like to fix."

"Fix?"

"Let's not hedge around this any longer." Janeway said, taking a deep breath. Cleo listened intently as the Admiral outlined the plan to her, everything from why the stolen inoculations were so important to the deal she had made with Korath for his new invention, the Chrono-Deflector. She was fascinated at how even the most minute of details had been decided, and was even more surprised to find out that her elder sister, Miral, was a willing accomplice in the scheme. "... so do you understand, now, why everything has been so 'up in the air'?"

"I guess so," Cleo sighed, in incredulous refrain, "I just...how long have you been planning this?"

"Eight years." Janeway replied. "It was at the reunion, actually, that I started to wonder what things could have been like. Imagine, Cleo, how different things could be."

"Well, depending on how far back you intend to go, there's a very good chance I won't exist, and we both know that would be a major disservice to humanity." Cleo said, her jovial sarcasm reminding Janeway of Tom, who had clearly made up for his lack of dominance in his daughters' looks by way of their personalities. "In all seriousness, I can't fault the plan; it's perfect in its design."

"But..."

"You want me to carry it out?" Cleo questioned, surprising Janeway, although she should have remembered that Cleo, as a result of both heritage and personality, had a very strong intuition.

"Yes." Was her answer. "Despite the precautions I've been taking, Starfleet have been getting increasingly suspicious. The gossip that's been going around the offices hasn't helped any, though I can't blame everybody; it's been so quietly mundane here recently. It seems that this place needs a crisis to function. Cleo, I know that this is a big decision to have to make, so I can give you some time. I need an answer in two weeks."

"I want to talk to Miral about it, see exactly what's going to be happening, Lieutenant Barclay too." Cleo said, beginning her bargaining; her father had always taught her to get the best out of any offer made, and to keep pushing until her demands were met, or it went wrong. This particular set of morals had led the way for a lot of arguments during her teenage years with her teachers and peers, but had been good practise for working at Starfleet Headquarters.

"Of course, I can set up a meeting with your sister tomorrow, and Reg is free this Saturday."

"There is one other thing..."

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><p><strong>AN2: Okay, so maybe you're confused, I don't blame you for being so, but all will be explained in future chapters. This may be updated soon, it may not. All I know is that it won't take another eight months. Please review, it'd be great to hear what you all think. :)<strong>


	4. Candyfloss

**AN: Well, I kept my promise... It hasn't been eight months. It might have been, though, if it weren't for the absolutely amazing _scifiromance, _who wrote pretty much this entire chapter and gave me some great ideas for how to follow up on it. I owe you a million. **

**Anyway, hope you enjoy this. **

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><p>"Cleo, can you get that?" Neveah shouted loudly as she heard the doorbell ring for the third time from behind the bathroom door. B'Elanna had either arrived early to drop the younger Paris girls off for their trip to the funfair or else she'd spent a lot longer getting ready than she'd thought. A quick glance at the clock set into the wall told her that the latter scenario was the case. Hurriedly, she gave her hair one last hot blast with her hairdryer and padded out of the bathroom, fully dressed but barefoot, her blonde hair still damp at the roots. "Hey, Clee!" she called to Cleo in mild exasperation as she finally reached the front door and unlocked it to let her foster family in.<p>

Luna and Lexi, as springy and irrepressible by nature as the matching brunette ringlets in their hair, flung themselves on Neveah as soon as the door opened. "Veah, will you take us on the rollercoaster?" Lexi asked eagerly by way of greeting, "You know Cleo won't take us because she hates being upside down."

"Well…" Neveah began slowly, trying to think of a way to let them down gently as she unwound their arms from around her waist.

Talia was less tactful, irritation that had obviously been bubbling since she was crammed in the car with her sisters beginning to boil over. "Both me and Mom have told you that you're too small to go on the big rollercoaster! Why don't you just…"

"Talia…" B'Elanna started in a warning tone to her teenage daughter.

Luna got stuck into her elder sister first, clinging to Neveah stubbornly. "You're just saying that because you're scared, Neveah will take us, Uncle Harry always says she's very brave…"

Neveah and all of the older Paris women flinched. They all knew that the bravery Captain Harry Kim had spoken of wasn't the kind that made you fearless on a rollercoaster. B'Elanna felt especially pained when she saw Neveah disguise the discomfort with almost as much ease as she'd seen Seven do so many times. It was insignificant little things like that which caught her off guard with Neveah more often than not, a wry lift of an eyebrow there, or sometimes a hand through the hair, a nervous habit she recognised from Chakotay. "Thanks Luna, I like to think everyone's brave at something but your mom and Talia are right, you're too small for the big rollercoaster." Neveah told the little girl solemnly, "But I'll tell you what, if you two can't go on I won't either. There are plenty of other things to do at the fair which all of us can do."

The twins looked up at her beseechingly, "You promise Veah?" they asked in perfect unison. Neveah nodded in relief and the girls beamed in delight. It was an easy promise really, she'd been close to the twins since they'd come back from the hospital years ago. It had started with Avia in those early weeks after her father's departure, when she couldn't sleep or had had a nightmare, going to help her godparents with the baby had soothed her and brought some purpose back into her life. The habit had lingered on when the twins had come along and she'd never regretted helping with them. At the time it had felt like a way of paying Tom and B'Elanna back a little for taking her in, but she'd never voiced that thought to anyone then or now.

"Why don't you say thank you to Neveah instead of peppering her with questions?" B'Elanna suggested with a soft laugh and a grateful smile at her goddaughter, which Avia, who'd been driven to distraction by the twins' and Talia's arguing during the ride over, mirrored happily.

"It's okay Auntie Bee." Neveah assured her but still grinned as the twins' thanks rang in her ears.

"They need to learn manners at some point remember." B'Elanna joked before glancing around the apartment in search of her second daughter. "As, apparently, does one Cleopatra Paris, where is she?"

"In here somewhere." Neveah replied, uneasily glancing around for her surrogate sister before saying to B'Elanna quietly, "I'm not sure what's up with her to be honest, she's not been acting like herself since she last spoke to Admiral Janeway."

"The Admiral?" B'Elanna asked pensively, her lips curling in angrily as she mulled over the woman's strange behaviour, first Miral now Cleo too? "She's maybe stressed at work, I'll talk to her when I come back to pick the girls up…"

Neveah shook her head, "Don't worry, it's probably nothing, you know she can stand up to Janeway." B'Elanna couldn't hide her proud smirk at that, "I'll try to talk to her went we're out today."

"Maybe it's just her "time of the month"." Avia remarked knowingly.

Talia looked scandalised, "How do you know about that? Have you been reading my diary again…"

"No." Avia interrupted, "I'm old enough to get those classes in Biology now you know."

"Oh God…" Talia muttered before her mother held up her hand for silence and addressed Neveah, ignoring that short exchange.

"You do that Neveah, and remind her that she can always come to her father and me." She said seriously before looking at Neveah in concern, "Did the Admiral upset you at the reunion honey?"

Neveah gave a noncommittal shrug, "Nothing compared to last year." She smiled at her godmother reassuringly, "I can handle it now Auntie Bee, I promise."

B'Elanna nodded, satisfied. "Good. Remember though, that what stands for Cleo is for you too, come talk to us."

Neveah blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes as she gave her a soft hug. "I'll remember."

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><p>"Strawberry!"<p>

"No, it's raspberry."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, can't either of you read?" Avia exclaimed, raising her arms up in exasperation. "It's _cherry, _and it doesn't even matter anyway, because we're not having the crushed ice. Look over there."

"I'd better go and take them." Talia said resignedly as her three younger sisters ogled the stand which sold both candyfloss and its ice cream flavour equivalent. "Can I have some credits Cleo?"

"Sure." Cleo agreed, quickly transferring some monetary credits from her card to Talia's. "Thanks for taking them, we need a coffee don't we, Veah?"

Neveh nodded, "Yeah, we'll go get that and wait for you on that picnic bench over there."

After going through the queue for coffee, which was much shorter than the child inflated line at the candy floss stand, both girls settled down on the bench to wait. Neveah decided this was her chance to draw her friend out, "So, what's up with you these past few days? And don't tell me you're fine because I know you're not."

Cleo looked at her oldest friend ruefully for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Remember those rumours I told you about the Admiral?"

"The missing Macenitoa and inoculations?"

Cleo nodded, "Yeah, turns out time travel really was part of the plan."

"Part of it?" Neveah squeaked in disbelief, "What else do we need to know other than she wants to do something as crazy as send herself back to the past?"

"That's not the crazy part." Cleo murmured, "She wants me to go back."

Neveah gave a panicky laugh, "You?" she echoed, "Why you? You were either really young or didn't exist yet when Voyager was travelling! God, if you did this neither one of us would exist!"

"Janeway didn't seem to think so. Apparently both of our sets of parents were so loved up we're almost inevitable."

"The "almost" is the important word in that sentence!" Neveah exclaimed, "I can't believe you're considering this Cleo!"

"Think about it Neveah." Cleo countered seriously, "We could change everything bad that happened in Voyager's later years and afterwards, including your mom dying, you being sick, Chakotay leaving…"

"I don't think the Admiral's suggesting this for my sake, she just picked now to start feeling guilty!" Neveah snapped hotly, "If she feels so strongly about it, why doesn't she go herself?"

"Starfleet is watching her, they suspect something. I could slip through the net." Cleo answered mutedly, "She also thinks the crew might listen to me more, being a Voyager baby."

Neveah snorted as she ran a strained hand through her hair, taking several deep breaths as the implications of all this sunk in. "Couldn't two Voyager kids do a better job than one?" she whispered thickly.

Cleo squeezed her friend's hand. "I told the Admiral you might say that."

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><p><strong>AN2: Future chapters will come a lot quicker, and for once that's not a promise that's going to be easy to break. Chapters have been written in advance, so we should be getting to a more regular updating schedule (don't hold me to that... why do I do this to everyone?). Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, and maybe leave a review? Pretty please :D<strong>


	5. Grief and Gravestones

**AN: Hey, everyone, I'll leave my big note at the end, mostly because this is a pretty intense chapter, and I don't want to force any kind ****of opinions or anything on you all :)**

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><p>Chakotay stepped methodically through the wobbly paving of the cemetery. Gravestones, some new, others old, decorated the mossy earth like a tragic mosaic, each and every one unique. It was one of the only places in San Francisco that hadn't been overhauled in the Technological Revolution of 2189, and its rustic beauty had always called out to him. Bustling down the broken road of dust and mud, Chakotay wondered if anybody else still came here. Every time he arrived there was a fresh bouquet of bright yellow daffodils in a green glass vase. He had no idea who left them there. The only person he'd known to love daffodils was Nevaeh, and she'd always seemed disinterested and avoidant of the topic of her mother during the years he'd raised her.<p>

Despite having not seen his daughter in an active, parental way since leaving the hospital on that fateful night, Chakotay had secured himself windows of opportunity in which he witnessed how she had grown. Of course, he was anonymous; thanks to the shady dealings of a few people he'd known from his Maquis days 'Chakotay' did not exist, and he was free to assume any identity he so desired. He chose a name: Michael Nolet, a career: Tactical Officer, and had the tribal tattoo removed from his face. He still, from time to time, caught fleeting glimpses of the people he'd shared his Voyager career with, but these brief meetings of eyes had gone as quickly as they came; he never stayed around long enough for a person to wonder. He'd seen Nevaeh at least twice annually since leaving, each time a complete accident. The most memorable of these had been five years ago, when he'd seen her leaving the cinema with a Bajoran boy she'd known since her early school days, a boy he remembered only as Lewis. He took one look at her, and instantly knew that the sweet child he'd known was all but gone. Her face had lost its roundedness, a fact he attributed immediately to Seven; Nevaeh had taken on the features of her mother, bar the slightly warmer skin tone and eye colour. It was in that moment, as Lewis leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Nevaeh's slightly parted lips that Chakotay realised that she was no longer his baby, and that she hadn't been for quite some time.

He'd left her to keep her safe, but safe from _what _exactly? The painful reality of living in a household where it was starkly obvious that something, _someone _was missing? No, plenty of other families had done the same and made it through. The cruel years of motherless adolescence, in which she would go through terrifying and confusing changes without the safe solace of a mother to talk it through with? No, she had plenty of female role models to turn to in the place of her mother. So what was it then...? Deep down inside of him, in a place he rarely visited, he knew that he'd left her to save her from himself. He hadn't been the same since Seven died, and had regressed to a time in his life in which he'd felt just as hopeless, just as utterly despondent: his first few years in the Maquis.

Slowly, he had reverted back into his cynical, self-oppressed, twenty-something self; even if only in private. His self-destruction was easier to hide on Earth, as he was afforded a lot more privacy than he'd grown accustomed to due to the twenty-plus years of life as a part of a crew. He'd always been careful around Nevaeh, and had hid all evidence, namely his growing collection of whiskey bottles and tobacco, away from her. It had, over the years gotten increasingly difficult to deceive his own kin, but it had been what he needed to cope. He began asking Tom and B'Elanna to have her for weeks at a time under the guise that he was going to be away on 'business'. He'd done everything he could to make the process as easy as he could for everyone, but he knew that they wouldn't see it like that. He knew that he would be seen as a terrible man who'd abandoned his daughter but, as far as he was concerned, it was the least painful path for everybody. Of course, he was well aware of the fact that, wherever she was now, Seven was looking at him with disappointment and anger. In fact, she probably held him in even more contempt than their daughter undoubtedly did, and deservedly so. But then, she wasn't the one who'd had to suffer the pain of helplessly watching their daughter fight for her life, and though he could never know how she would have reacted had she known about the sickness, he was sure that she would have taken it just as hard as he had, if not more so.

Sighing inwardly, Chakotay made the final few steps to his destination, and, as he always did, opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids were heavy, his temples throbbing with the sudden burden of grief. Though his vision was distorted from the tears that had appeared from nowhere, Chakotay could see the familiar vase of daffodils, and he reached out a tentative hand to stroke the cool granite of his wife's headstone. Many things angered him; the fact that she was dead was obviously one of the main ones, as was the harsh reality that her final resting place wasn't anywhere near her memorial stone.

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><p>Seven Of Nine<p>

An honest heart that once was ours,

Now you rest amongst the stars.

Leader, fighter, mother, wife,

We'll see you in another life.

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><p>Nevaeh crouched behind the thick trunk of an aged sycamore, breathing shallowly. She watched furiously as her father, the man who'd abandoned her with no explanation, mourned greedily for the woman he'd loved. The passion with which he wept melted her heart none as she thought of all that had been denied her in her life so far: a mother who, instead of raising her with love and guidance had died before a bond could even be made and a father who had given up on her over something that had, by all accounts, not been her fault. Nevaeh found it hypocritical that a man who could break his heart so completely over his wife could not even bring himself to extend a final moment of tenderness to their daughter in his final goodbye to her. When he'd said his farewell, that day in hospital, there had been no extra words of encouragement, no lingering in the hug, anything that she might have been able to cling to as evidence that he regretted leaving her, that she meant anything more to him than a stack of Starfleet issue PADDs or a statistics report. In fact, there had been less than that. A solitary 'Goodbye' as he slipped out of the door, a word that had shot a lightning bolt of fear through the nine-year-old who had come out of a blood transfusion mere hours before. 'Goodbye' was simply not a word they said.<p>

Nevaeh, now through a curtain of her own tears, looked down at the dried dirt beneath her feet. The recent heat wave had left the dirt pale and cracked, and an army of ants walked in a line, carrying pieces of grass and fruit to their queen. The irony of it did not escape her, and, however childishly, she wanted to tell the ants that they didn't have to serve their leader so faithfully, that there was no point in it because they'd die as soon as they outlived their usefulness anyway. She cursed her weak immune system, wavering slightly with light-headedness and grabbed onto a wayward tree root for support. Her legs began to cramp up, not used to prolonged periods of crouching and she could feel herself tipping over. "Damn it!" she barked, registering the reality that she'd have a bump on her head and a grazed knee, before cringing and remembering that she was supposed to be hiding.

Chakotay looked up, startled by the sudden cursing, and rose from his kneeling position slowly. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place who it might be; a friend, colleague, someone else... "Who's there?" he questioned gruffly, his voice hoarse from lack of use and a peculiar pain he felt in the back of his throat.

No answer came.

Nevaeh held her breath in a state of panic. The rational part of her knew that, despite it all, she was in no danger and that although he'd not been there for her he wouldn't hurt her, but the voice screaming out to her in her head said _'Run, like he ran from you, run'_. Realising that it was an impossibility, the trees behind her were too densely clustered to make escape a plausible option, she took the other extreme and ducked down under a nearby nettle, wincing as the inevitable happened and the stinging began. Chakotay made his way to the sycamore, certain that he had heard the voice come from there "Who's there?" he repeated, in a more gentle tone of voice; whoever had been there had been scared that they'd made themselves known and for all he knew it could have been a little kid playing in the woods, not meaning to pry on, or disturb, anyone. "Madison?" he called, and Nevaeh bristled, wiping away her remaining tears; had he moved on so wholly that he was with somebody else?

"Who the hell is Madison?" she demanded, forgetting in her fury that she didn't want to attract his attention any more so than she had done already. Chakotay, still not able to place the voice, replied that Madison was a colleague, which, whilst appeasing Nevaeh enough for her to allow herself to crawl out from the nettle and sit with her back to him, didn't instil within her the confidence to face her father. _Ridiculous, _she thought, _he was the one who left, and I feel guilty about even being here._

Chakotay approached the nettle bush, careful to not move too quickly; he saw a girl with waist-length blonde hair sitting in a bed of moss. "Who are you?" he wondered aloud; her back was to him, and though he recognised the voice, a name just did not appear with it.

"Does it matter?"

"Samantha?" Chakotay tried, composing a list of all the blonde women he'd known who'd be able to remember Seven.

"No."

"Naomi?"

"Warmer" Nevaeh replied. _What the hell?! _she thought to herself, _this is not a game! _Chakotay felt the cogs turning in his tired brain, and he instinctively thought of happier, more innocent times: chasing an excited six year old through the back garden of their newly acquired home in the suburbs, reading her a bedtime story on her third birthday, brushing her hair dry after bath times. That hair...

"Nevaeh." It was no longer a question. His voice held in it the weight of a thousand emotions: grief, guilt, even fear; they all made themselves known.

"Oh gee, how'd you guess?" Chakotay winced at Nevaeh's bitter laugh and bemused tone, though he knew he deserved it, and probably a whole lot more.

"Nevaeh." He repeated, in the same shell-shocked voice.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," she quipped, hugging her knees to her chest as she scanned around feverishly for a cluster of dock leaves. Whimpering slightly with the tingly pain, she scratched her arms and racked her brains as she tried to think of things to say. 'So what brings you here?' seemed a little too aloof, and she already knew the answer to that anyway. 'I hate you' was too harsh and, if she were completely honest with herself, it wasn't even true. "How _did _you know it was me?" she settled on, liking the neutral tone she'd managed to pull out of thin air. Twenty more seconds passed, and at his lack of reply Nevaeh became exasperated. Clearing her throat, she tried another, slightly more goading, tack; "For years, I kept this stupid belief that I would wake up one morning and that I'd come down for breakfast and you'd be there, and it would all be okay again. Ridiculous, right?" Chakotay still could not reply, though the pressure to do so was overwhelming; he knew that he would likely not see his daughter's face unless he said something, and soon. "Do you really not have anything to say to me?" she asked, "Anything at all? I mean, I don't want an apology, I know you probably had your reasons; but come on, really? Not a 'Hey there', 'How's your life been?', or even an 'I missed you'?" His silence confirmed her worst fears, and in that moment she was angry, knowing that she had every right to be and then some.

"I tried," he croaked, fighting through a seemingly impenetrable wall just to find the ability to string words together. "I tried not to go." This made no sense to Nevaeh, as it was both illogical and answered none of her questions, but she kept herself from saying so, aware that even after all that had happened, he was still her father and he deserved at least the opportunity to explain himself. "Real life isn't like what you see in the movies, Nevaeh; sometimes people are faced with things they can't cope with, that no amount of laughter and love can fix. And you're so much like her, your hair, the way you talked and acted back then. Every single time, seeing you in your hospital bed; it was like watching her die over and over again. I just couldn't..."

"But that's not my fault!" Nevaeh said forcefully, willing him to understand that it wasn't good enough; it was as if he were blaming her for his lack of personal strength. "And it wasn't exactly easy for me, either, you know, having to spend months at a time immobile and hurting. I get sick less often now," she told him, though he hadn't asked, "but when I do it's more painful and for longer."

"The Doctor hasn't been able to find a cure?" He couldn't believe it; but then, he hadn't been the only one who'd been sure that something would have come up by now.

"No, but he has been able to find a way to stop the nanoprobes in their tracks. It's sort of like an inoculation. Basically, I won't ever be free of this disease, but if I ever have children they won't have to suffer." Nevaeh said, referring to the breakthrough the Doctor and his colleagues had made a few days after her seventeenth birthday. After putting Nevaeh through some pretty heavy testing, they were able to conclude that the level of Nanoprobes in her blood was rapidly decreasing, and though they would never completely go their numbers would decrease enough so that there would be simply none left to pass on to any future children.

"And will you?" he asked. "Have children, I mean."

"Probably not." Nevaeh replied. "What with my illness and everything it'd be pretty hard to be consistently there for a child, and I always promised myself that if I couldn't be a proper parent to my children then I wouldn't have them."

"You sound so much like her, even now." He commented. _How'd that happen? _he pondered, wondering if Tom and B'Elanna had kept Seven's memory alive for Nevaeh, and possibly his too. "You have no idea how many times I wished she'd never died. Before her, I'd never really counted myself as one of the lucky people who got to fall in love; I'd resigned myself to a life of being lonely. I didn't even trust her at first, I wanted nothing to do with her. She seemed sub-human, hell, she _was _sub-human. She was never my rescue mission, but as I watched her over the years I began to feel like there was something there, and it was one of the happiest days of my life when I found out that she felt the same way. Our wedding, the day you were born... things I had never even wanted before Voyager, they were perfect. And then she died and it all fell apart."

"You loved her too much." Nevaeh concluded, using his anguished admittance as the final piece of the jigsaw. "And me not enough." She turned around to meet her father's eyes for the first time in ten years, and was surprised to see something she recognised. It haunted her that she remembered the torn look in his eye and the slight hunch in his back as if he'd been carrying the weight on the world on his shoulders. She realised that she had watched him sink slowly for the entire first half of her life, and hadn't even noticed it.

"No. It was never that. Of course I loved you; I wanted for you to be safe, for you to be okay. You were okay, weren't you?" Chakotay asked tentatively, "Tom and B'Elanna, they..."

"They've been _amazing." _Nevaeh stressed, wanting to show off her surrogate parents to her father. "And Icheb too. I honestly don't know where I'd be today without them. If there's one thing I can thank you for with regards to these past few years, it's choosing them to have me after you went."

"They were the only ones I trusted not to ruin you."

"Bit late for that though, wasn't it?"

"Don't say that. You're not ruined, not as much as you would have been if I had stayed, at least. I'm not trying to justify it, but believe me when I say that I never stopped loving you and I went because I didn't want you to have to hurt alongside me because I couldn't keep it inside. I would have been no good for you if I'd stayed, and if there was anything I could do, could say, to prove it to you, then I would. Short of going back in time and changing history there's nothing I can do to stop the pain, everybody's."

She felt weary suddenly, and instantly knew that she had to be alone; both planning for the, what she deemed bizarre, mission she and Cleo were about to embark on and this emotional reunion had tired her out. "Y'know, I really wanted you to be a hero," she confided, smiling wistfully as she remembered her 10-year-old self's daydreams of her father simply going away for a few months to build a time machine or a spaceship in which the two of them could explore the universe together. "I can't forgive you, but I can understand why you left." she said, refocusing her gaze on a hornets' nets above his head in a last-ditch attempt to combat the ever growing threat of tears. "Much the same as how I need you to understand why I need for you to leave now."

Chakotay didn't reply, but the weight of the world around him confirmed that no words were necessary. He cast another look at his daughter and saw that her face held no hate, just hints of tiredness and recovery; he supposed his face showed the same. He nodded, and once again felt unsure; should he wave, offer a smile of parting...? Nevaeh realised that he was struggling, and laughing inwardly, realised that she was going to have to be the one to offer either a gesture or words of valediction. She followed his gaze to her mother's grave, and saw the vase of daffodils. "Every year," she said "I'm the one who leaves them, just in case you were wondering."

"I have been," he replied, meeting Nevaeh's eyes for one last time. "I thought I was the only one who came here." He continued, in a lower, more sombre tone. Nevaeh smiled and raised her hand up in goodbye, and he did the same. He turned, and as he began to walk away he felt the pressure on his shoulders loosen, and he began to let go; Nevaeh didn't hate him, and because of that one fact he began to smile. He'd always wanted to feel like he'd done the right thing by leaving, and thanks to their meeting today, it was no longer something he wanted, it was something he knew.

Nevaeh watched her father walk away, and realised that she didn't feel angry, like she'd always assumed she would do if she ever saw him again. Making her way back to her mother's headstone, Nevaeh brushed the tree trunks lightly before sitting cross-legged and tracing the slightly worn epitaph with her fingertips. The afternoon had brought her something resembling, if not quite, closure, and as she finally allowed the first of her tears to fall, she knew that she had made the right decision by agreeing to go. What she and Cleo were about to do, if pulled off successfully, would change the lives of everybody she held dear, and then even the lives of people she didn't even know. She hadn't even thought about different her own life would be; her mother would be alive, her father would never have gone away. She'd never even know of this existence. Everything she knew and held familiar would disappear, and there was only one word in her mind...

"Goodbye."

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, so that was pretty heavy. But, then, I did warn you. I recently read it through for the first time in ages and wondered if it were too much for one chapter, but, after a lot of reassurance and help from <em>scifiromance <em>who is the best beta ever (I swear this fic would be dead by now if it weren't for her), here we are now. I hope you enjoyed it, despite all the 'feels'. More chapters are in the works as we speak (well, I type, you read I guess), so my next update shouldn't be too far away :) And, maybe if you've got time, leave a review? :D**


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